When Christmas Comes Early

Meet Noelle.

Or as Fongster refers to her, my “ratty hamster”. It’s not evident from this picture, but she is actually a white Syrian hamster with red eyes and long fur. According to the salesman, in a few more weeks, she’ll be a veritable ball of fluff because, you know, that’s what long white fur will do to you.

M and I weren’t actually interested in buying her at first. We looked into a big tank full of dwarf hamsters. They were all sleek and plump with little beady eyes and vacuous dwarf-hamster faces. And then amidst all the tumbling and squeaking and chaos, one lone, white hamster with a scrawny body and an expression of fierce determination wandered by.

“What the fuck is that thing?” M said, jumping backwards. Indeed, with her blood red eyes and mad long fur sticking out everywhere, she looked like a miniature mutant rat.

“I have no clue,” I muttered in disgust. “She doesn’t even look like a hamster.”

We stared at her in horrible fascination for awhile and it became clear that while all the other hamsters curled up together and played with each other like little children, the white rat-thing was on a mission by herself. She ignored the little grey bodies strewn about her and attempted to climb one wall of the tank, sticking her tiny pink nose through an airhole as if to make a point. The cage suddenly seemed too crowded for her and too full of hamsters she didn’t care to play with.

She could barely hold on to the edge with her small paws, but boy, was she ever trying. Her face was screwed up with the effort of holding herself up and her back legs cycled wildly, trying to gain a firm hold.

The more I watched her, the more I became drawn into her serious expression and her valiant attempts to escape. As if reading my thoughts, M interrupted, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me to save her yet. She seems just like the kind of charity case you’d want to adopt.”

“Of course not,” I lied, and we moved on to another tank of Syrians. They were all too old to be pets for very long, so as a last resort, we went to the front of the shop and asked if the salesman had any baby Syrian hamsters for sale.

“Aiyah. Syrians so rare. I only have one. Six weeks old only,” he added, grabbing a set of keys and leading us into the back. He opened the cage of dwarf hamsters, reached in and picked out the rat to our speechless horror. “Too small to put with the big hamsters lah. This one is long-haired. In a few weeks, she will look very nice one! Can even brush her.”


Well, who were we to argue with fate? M very sweetly bought her for me on the spot.

And you know what, he was right. As soon as she got some alone space and food, she filled out beautifully and her snowy pelt became soft pulled cotton. M suggested we name her after something Christmassy and so we picked “Noelle” after the carol because her colours make her look like a furry candy cane.

Unlike Angstrom, she’s a lot shyer and softer and doesn’t bite, but likes to sit on her ladder and look out of the cage curiously, ducking her head if I make a sudden noise or movement. She’s quiet and serious and brave and I love her.

I would never have ever bought a red-eyed hamster in the past, but even that’s grown on me, and she looks more like blighted luckdragon than sewer vermin.

Who’d have thought?

Thank you M, for constantly shaking the foundations of my world and for being my very own Christmas miracle.